


Another series of Jaytim drabbles

by glaciya



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Check chapter notes for additional tags, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, If they apply, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Pining, and unedited, most of my stuff is gonna be fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22161700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glaciya/pseuds/glaciya
Summary: Just a place to throw all my wild jaytim ficlets. Each chapter will be a one-shot!
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 56
Kudos: 425





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from Tumblr for Jaytim plus ninja.

“With the temperature resting at well below zero and snow showers causing low visibility, we strongly encourage all citizens to remain indoors if at all possible. I now will turn it over to Becky, for an updated traffic report.”

Tim shut the TV off with a wave of his hand. Immediately he could hear the dull roar of the wind outside and when he twisted to look out the tinted window-wall that made up the west side of his penthouse, all he could see was a white blur of snow.

He drummed his fingers against the arm of the couch. Sighed. “Screw it.”

Opening his balcony door caused cold air to rush in, piercing through his thin hoodie and socks with a chill that took his breath away. “As long as you don’t try to kill me you can come in,” he shouted into the wind. It was loud enough that his voice didn’t carry far but he knew that the assassin Ra’s sent for the night couldn’t be very far.

He turned away from the window to crank the heat up, planning to rescind the offer and close the window if his stalker wasn’t inside by the time he was done. The window slid shut before Tim finished adjusting the thermostat and when he glanced over his shoulder at the sound Tim spotted a tall man dressed in red with a long dangerous looking katana strapped over his back.

“Never seen you around before,” Tim noted when the assassin didn’t offer a greeting. “Or maybe I have. You guys usually wear all black.”

The red assassin stared at him.

“The mask is cool though.” Tim gestures toward his own face. “Looks like it has different settings. Night vision? Scope?”

The red assassin grunted at him.

“Okay. Okay cool.” Tim was starting to sweat and he knew it wasn’t from the rising heat in the room. Everything was fine though, he’d just invited a trained killer into his home, that was all. Maybe this was why Dick kept trying to talk to him about how concerned he was about Tim lately.

“Hot chocolate? Hot chocolate sounds good to me right now.” Tim started toward his kitchen, watching out of the corner of his eye as the red assassin began to follow him with eerily silent footsteps. Abruptly, Tim stopped and pointed a finger at him. “Remember, no trying to kill or maim me, I will fuck you up. And- and I’m going to call you Red from here on out.”

Red nodded at him once.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Tim turned his back on Red, tensing while he waited for an attack.

Nothing happened.

Tim sighed and continued his path into the kitchen, trusting Red not to try to kill him now. He made them both a cup of hot chocolate, stuffing marshmallows in his mouth continuously as he worked. At one point he held a thick marshmallow out to Red and pointedly looked away while he dropped an unhealthy portion of marshmallows into their mugs. When Red was in his line of sight again the marshmallow Tim gifted him was nowhere to be seen and Red’s jaw was working slowly underneath his mask.

Tim bit back a smile and handed a mug to Red before making his way back to the couch he’d preoccupied before. They watched cartoons together late into the night, much later than Tim had planned on staying up.

Red listened to his conspiracy theories, grunting at him occasionally to let him know he was still listening. At some point Red set his empty mug down on the coffee table. Tim had never noticed him drinking.

Eventually Tim found that each time he blinked, it was getting harder and harder to open his eyes again after. “I’m gonna go to sleep now,” he slurred when the sky started to turn pink and orange with the sunrise. “Don’t try to kill me.”

Red gunted at him again.

In the morning when he woke up he found the quilt from his bed draped over him and two clean mugs sitting on his kitchen counter.


	2. Writer Jason and Muse Tim

“You’re late,” Jason noted after hearing the balcony door in his apartment slide open. He didn’t look away from his laptop and the open word doc he’d spent most of his morning scowling at. The cursor sat in the middle of a sentence, blinking in the very spot it had been in for the past hour.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tim pull off the dark cowl he wore and shrug off his cape, leaving them both in a messy pile on the middle cushion on Jason’s couch. Jason sighed through his teeth. There had better not be blood stains on his new couch when Tim left. 

“I’m not late. I always arrive exactly when-” The rest of Tim’s sentence trailed off into a yawn as he stumbled into the kitchen with a gait eerily similar to zombies that starred in the horror movie they had watched together over the weekend. His pace picked up when he spotted the fresh pot of coffee Jason had made for him. 

Seeing Tim reach up into his cabinets for a mug with suspiciously careful movements had Jason twisting in his seat to inspect Tim closer. 

“You clashed with one of the rogues tonight didn’t you?” he asked eagerly. Unfortunately the thick black armor of his Batman suit hid any signs of injury from Jason. “Was it Killer Croc? Bane?” 

Tim shot a tired glare over his shoulder. “You are entirely too excited about a potential brush with death I had.” 

“Of course I am. A near death experience for you is more inspiration for me.” Jason waved a hand toward his laptop. “Speaking of…”

“Give me a minute.” 

Jason gave him a minute to get his coffee. Another for him to settle into his usual chair opposite of Jason at the kitchen table. And another for Tim to take a couple sips and give a hearty sigh afterward. 

“Tim.”

“Jason.”

“Tim.”

Tim’s stared at him from over his mug, eyes alight with humor. He had a busted lip, bags under his eyes, and his hair was beginning to curl around his cheeks and brow from a combination of cowl hair and sweat. “You know I have to have my morning coffee if I’m going to stay awake long enough to give you all the details about my run in with assassins.”

Jason gaped. “Assassins? How many were there? Who’d they work for? Did you-” Jason cuts himself off. “You’re fucking with me.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe I did run into say- six assassins tonight and had to fight them off all by myself.” Tim sat his mug down, running a finger over the rim of the glass in a slow circle. “Or maybe I just like seeing you like this.”

_Like what?_ Jason didn’t have to ask. He slumped back in his seat- unaware until that moment that he had been leaning forward, practically drooling over the promise of any glimpse as to what the Dark Knight went through during each patrol- and scrubbed a hand over his eyes.

“Remind me why I put up with you again?” Jason asked, peering out at Tim through his fingers. 

Tim grinned at him, battered and exhausted and still utterly beautiful and Jason’s heart did a strange little flip while he thought, _oh_ , and, _right_.


	3. Barista Tim & The Red Hood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW- A little blood

There comes a time when a person begins to question every choice they’ve ever made that has led them to exactly where they are now. Tim’s moment comes in the form of a behemoth, covered in blood that stumbles into the coffee-shop where he works exactly forty three minutes and twenty-five seconds before his shift is up. Not that he’s counting.

The behemoth drags himself into a corner booth, flopping down on the bench on his side before he pushes himself up with a mighty groan. He scrambles in his pockets, pulling out a variety of things that could be considered lethal. The gun comes first, then another gun, two daggers, a taser, another gun, a bullet pouch, a _fucking grenade_ , and then finally, finally the man drops a handful of crumbled hundred dollar bills on the table. The corners of them are stained with fresh blood.

_Where did I go wrong?_ Tim thinks, sure he’s not going to live until sunrise. He’s mostly numb, but also slightly disappointed that he isn’t going to get to finish the latest season of Stranger Things before his death.

He eyes the door and considers making a run for it, but that would mean moving past where the man is seated and, even injured as he is, Tim is still fairly certain the man’s hands work enough to shoot him should he feel the urge.

He shifts back and his tennis shoes squeak on the freshly cleaned floors.

“I will give you-” The man coughs. “All this money- if you make me the strongest, largest cup of caffeine mixture ya got.”

Tim very much does not want the bloody money but for some reason when he opens his mouth, what comes out is a simple, “Okay.” And he turns to head behind the counter, like the good costumer service employee he is.

“I mean the real shit too. Put some hair on my chest,” the man says amongst the sounds of more shuffling.

Based on the low baritone of the man’s voice, Tim highly doubts the man needs anymore hair on his chest, but he reaches under the counter anyway to get the good stuff- a bag they rarely pull out for costumers. It’s black with a white skull on the top.

The shuffling behind Tim stops when he’s about halfway through making the man’s order and he hears a low sigh behind him.

“Hey,” the man begins and Tim jumps, realizing he had picked up a can of whip cream while he was focused on the noises from the guy behind him. “You know you don’t like, have to right? I mean, this is probably out of the ordinary for you with me being- me and all,” he chuckles. “But I’m not going to like, shoot you or anything if you refuse. Pretend I’m just a regular late night costumer. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried.” He’s a little worried.

Tim decides to squirt a good portion of the whipped cream into the coffee. A little sugar never hurts, he figures. When he turns around the man has taken the hideous red thing off his head that he had previously wore, and while Tim still can’t see his eyes thanks to the domino the man is wearing, he catches a good glimpse of the man’s sharp jawline and plump lips and thinks, pretty.

The man makes a disgusted face at the first swallow, gagging a little with his mouth shut like he’s trying to hide it. He’s trying not to be rude, Tim realizes and the thought makes him give out a little hysterical giggle.

The man’s attention narrows in on him instantly. “What?”

“Nothing,” Tim lies. “It’s just- you’ve got a little..” He gestures vaguely at his own face.

“Thanks.” The man wipes at his face, smearing a little blood up his cheek from his busted lip. "Did I get it?“

"Yup. Sure did.”

The man finishes his drink, even if he grimaces through half of his swallows and shudders through the other half. He doesn’t seem to mind the fact that Tim can’t stop staring at him throughout it all. It’s sort of like watching a car accident happen. He’s not sure if he wants to see what comes at the end, but he can’t force his eyes away all the same.

“Red Hood,” the man says, and expertly tosses his empty cup into the trash can on the other side of the room.

“What?” Tim asks, and then spots the thing the man had on his head. “Oh. It’s right there.” It’s literally sitting by his elbow. Maybe he needs a hospital if his vision is impaired that badly by his injury.

“No,” the man sighs, like Tim has done him some great wrong. “That’s my name. Red Hood.”

“I’m Timothy Jackson Drake,” he says and quietly groans to himself. Sure, Tim, give the armed mask wearing man your full name. Good idea. “You can call me Tim.”

“Tim.” Red Hood says his name slow, testing it out. It makes Tim’s pulse throb. He grins at him with blood stained teeth, handsome and devastating. “It’s nice to meet you, Tim.”


	4. kisses on bruises

“What do you mean by leaving?” Jason’s voice is high and panicked.

Tim thinks he should be concerned about this, but the drugs are pulsing nicely through his system and all he can think about is the way the patterns on the ceiling are all melting together and swirling.

“Hey! Someone else needs to stay with him!” Jason sounds somehow distant and close at the same time. “Make the demon brat do it! You know I’m better equipped than him for battle.”

“Jason I can’t focus on fighting Ivy’s plant zombies and making sure you don’t kill anyone at the same time,” Dick’s voice comes from even further away. “And I can’t trust Damian to watch Tim and make sure he’s okay.”

“But you trust me? Last I checked, we both tried to end his life.”

“You’re the adult,” Dick says, sounding angry now. “Act like one.”

A door slams and Jason curses, moving into the corner of Tim’s line of sight. There’s a thought, frightened and hurt and scared that tries to take form in the back of his mind. It floats away too, just like the patterns on the ceiling.

“It’s a hurricane,” he sighs.

“What,” he hears Jason croak.

Tim doesn’t know how to explain it. He closes his eyes instead.

“Yeah, okay. Just ignore me and go to sleep,” Jason says. “And, fuck, I dunno. Be okay, I guess.”

“I’m okaaaay,” Tim says. And he is too. With his eyes closed he can imagine he’s floating around the room. Over and over in circles. 

Nausea hits him all of and his eyes fly open, dispelling his imagination. “I’m tired of spinning now,” he says and pouts when the ceiling keeps moving on him. He turns to look at Jason instead. He’s safe because he’s not moving.

He’s looking at Tim though, which is surprising. Tim doesn’t imagine Jason looks at him very often.

He grins. “Hello.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Hey,” he says, sounding amused. His expression goes somber after a moment. “Tim why did you jump in front of me like that?”

Tim frowns, trying to remember. “When the plant zombie shot at you?”

“Yeah.”

“Because it was going to hit you, so I made it hit me instead.”

“And now you’re in the hospital. Good going.”

Tim shrugs. Or, he thinks he does. “Adds character.”

Jason glares now and Tim wishes he’d look away from him finally. He hates when Jason looks at him like that. “I hate when you look at me like that,” he slurs.

“Like what?”

“Like you hate me.”

Jason’s expression does an odd thing. Odd because Tim didn’t know Jason was capable of looking at anything like that before; gentle and a little sad. “I don’t hate you, Tim. I just wish you didn’t think it was your responsibility to save me. Especially when it means that you get hurt instead. Sometimes you have to look after yourself and know you can’t save people from everything.”

Tim pouts. “I can too.”

Jason snorts. “No you can’t. Look,” he points to his own face, where a nasty purple and blue bruise is forming under his eye. “You didn’t even save me all the way. I still got hit a little by that blast.”

Tim sits up, his stubbornness overriding the drugs effects. It helps that Jason moves closer to him in concern, hands fluttering around uselessly like he doesn’t know what to do with them, and with Jason’s face close to him all he has to do is lean forward and pucker his lips.

He plants a wet kiss right on Jason’s cheek where the bruise is, making a smacking sound with his lips as he pulls away and grinning at Jason’s blushing, wide-eyed face.

“There!” he says. “All better.” And promptly passes out.


	5. Kid! Jaytim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come on. Give me one good reason not to jump in the lake."

“Don’t,” says Jason, glaring at him, “you dare.”

Tim smiles and lifts his leg off the safety of the dock. “I’m gonna do it.”

Jason puffs up like a blow fish, his teal eyes bright and wild next to his red skin. Tim hates when their dads make them hang out while they talk business. The two of them have nothing in common, and Jason always tries to act like he’s in charge because he’s thirteen and Tim’s only ten. 

“I’ll tell,” Jason warns. 

“Oh yeah? Would this situation count as an emergency?”

Jason blinks at him. “What?”

“Well, I only ask because I know for a fact my father specifically said to only come get him if it was an emergency.” Tim shrugs. “Is me jumping into the lake an emergency?”

“It would be if you drowned and died!”

“I can swim,” Tim says, turning from him to face the water. His skin is damp with sweat and his clothes are sticking to him uncomfortably. The water is such a pretty blue and Tim knows he’ll feel so much better if he just jumps right in. “You can do better than that, Jason. Come on, give me one good reason not to jump in the lake. Just one, and I’ll come back to land.”

There’s silence and when Tim turns to look behind him, he can see Jason chewing on his bottom lip, staring at him with an almost frightened look on his face. Tim drops his leg back onto the dock. "Jason? Are you okay?”

Jason glares at him. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because your dumbass-”

Tim gasps, kids aren’t supposed to curse.

“-is about to jump in the water and we just ate less than half an hour ago, so if you get cramps I’m going to have to jump in after you and I can’t swim, so then we’ll both drown and no one else is around to save us!” By the time Jason is done he’s panting, cheeks flushed with rage.

Tim stares. “You can’t swim?”

“No!”

“Why not? Didn’t you ever take swimming lessons?”

Jason doesn’t answer that, rolling his eyes and scowling down at his shoes.

And Tim remembers suddenly hearing his parents talking in hushed whispers about how Bruce brought in a kid from a bad home, how there’d be signs of neglect and abuse.

Jason looks at him from under his lashes. “Well, are you gonna jump in and kill us both?”

Tim rolls his eyes, walking from the dock to where Jason stands on the safety of land. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m an awesome swimmer, just so you know.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I am,” Tim says and hesitates before saying. “I could teach you, if you want.” 


	6. kiss cam at a sporting event

Sitting on Gotham’s side of the stadium, surrounded in black yet next to a man that cheers every time the Metropolis Meteors scores and boos whenever Gotham’s Knights hit a home run, Tim feels like there’s a blaring target above his head.

The man beside him is Wallis Sidney, owner of Sidney Steel, and he wants to change a large section of farmland outside Metropolis into a bunch of Warehouse buildings. Bruce has entrusted Tim to persuade Wallis to sell to Wayne Enterprises instead, which is the only reason Tim isn’t calling him out for trying to find a confrontation with an over eager fan. Tim can see his beady eyes swishing this way and that, meeting every scowl sent his way with glee.

He expects Tim to use his influence as a Wayne to protect him if someone tried to fight him, just as he expects Tim to pay for everything while they were out today. He expects right. Sometimes Tim hates working out business deals. 

One of the Knights goes down, sliding through the dirt to make it to second base in time. Tim cringes as he watches the player’s foot twist under him at an awkward angle. He doesn’t get back up right away, and the Meteor player manning the base leans down to help him up and off the field as the Referees and coaches move toward them.

The Knight with the number four etched on his back limps off the field and beside Tim, Wallis laughs so hard he snorts hot dog bits on the ground in front of them. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” The words are followed by a warm heavy weight pressing into Tim’s right arm. He’s wearing a black Gotham Knights cap backwards and he has the number four painted on his cheek. They’re screwed.

Wallis leans into Tim’s other arm. He smells like he’s sweating out the three beers he’s drank since the game started.

“Sorry, kid.” Wallis doesn’t look sorry at all. “I’m from Metropolis, born and raised.”

The Knights fan squishing into Tim’s right side scoffs. “So? I don’t give a crap what team you root for, but don’t celebrate when someone gets hurt.”

“You’re just upset your boyfriend is going to have to sit out the rest of the game.”

“Maybe I’m just tired of listening to the pathetic cries for attention you’ve been making the entire first half.”

Caught between them, Tim tries to sink further into his seat to avoid being dragged in the middle. He’ll have to take Wallis’ side for the sake of the business deal and he’s hoping he can talk the other man down from punching him at the very least.

He’s handsome, Tim notices, watching him spew biting insults toward Wallis. All sharp edges with his strong jaw, narrowed eyes, and cut muscles Tim has the pleasure of both seeing and feeling. The edges are softened by the curl of thick black hair squished down over his forehead and ears by his cap, and the plump pout of red lips. Tim decides his handsome could very likely twist into something pretty if his expression softened from the scowl.

The crowd starts to go wild, cheering and gasping growing over the argument Tim is caught in between. He looks forward, into the field, but none of the players have returned. A tap on his shoulder gets his attention and Tim leans back, peering over the angry handsome man to find another man seated right next to him.

He has red hair, green eyes, and a smirk that speaks mischief as he points up, in front and above them.

Tim follows the direction of his finger and finds himself looking at…himself. On the kiss cam. Playing over the stadium so everything can see. The angry-handsome man is his co-star and the camera has no trouble showing how he’s leaning into a very flustered Tim’s space. The two of them are encased in heart emojis at the edge of the screen and the words **Romeo and Romeo????** flash at the bottom in glittery hot pink font, referring to the fact that Tim is in Metropolis Meteor reds and Angry-Handsome is wearing the deep black of the Gotham Knights. 

“Motherfucker,” Tim says, watching his lips move on screen with a half-second delay. His word gets the two men in front of him to finally stop fighting.

“How dare you?” Wallis says.

At the same time Angry-Handsome says, “You talkin’ to me?”

“Not you,” Tim says to both of them. He points forward. “That.”

They both look and Tim watches Angry-Handsome’s face go slack in surprise. Pretty, he thinks.

“Jason,” the redhead calls from their right and Angry-Handsome-Jason turns toward him.

“Now that I’d like to see,” Wallis says. “Wonder how Ol’ Brucie would feel seeing that on the Gotham Gazette tomorrow?”

Tim knows Bruce won’t care, and he knows how to read the slimy man in front of him. He widens his eyes and makes himself suck in a gasp of horror.

Wallis grins. “Kiss that man, and I’ll sell you my farmland.”

Tim ducks his head so Wallis can’t see the triumph Tim worries might be flashing in his eyes. “Deal,” he says, making his voice hollow.

He turns to Jason and catches the end of the redhead’s sentence.

“-and I’ll buy you three beers.”

Jason whips around toward Tim, face flushed and eyes lit with determination. “I wanna kiss you for the camera. Cool?”

“Definitely cool, yeah. We can be like, the arctic over here. Polar bears and-”

Jason interrupts Tim with a kiss and around them, the crowd goes wild. 


	7. Ghost Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you don't like it, pick some other house to haunt!"

At exactly three in the morning, Tim feels a cool breeze flow through his room, raising the hair on his arms and making his breath visible with his exhale. When Jason appears on the foot of his bed, slightly see-through and glowing a soft blue, Tim isn’t surprised. This has happened every night for the past year, like clockwork.

“Hello Jason,” Tim says brightly. He waves the hand free of the cast at him.

Jason scowls at him. “You’re supposed to be resting. I heard Alfie say so!”

“If I was resting, I wouldn’t be able to hang out with you until you disappear at sunrise.”

“I don’t disappear. You just can’t see me anytime other than now, for whatever reason.”

“Well, it feels more like we’re hanging out when I can actually have a conversation with you,” Tim says. “And besides, this way you won’t stand around my bed watching me sleep like you did before I caught you on camera.” He laughs when Jason’s eyes widen before he becomes incredibly interested in the pattern on Tim’s bed sheets.

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Don’t blame me when it takes you forever to get better because you won’t give your body the rest it needs. I’m not sure who’s worse at taking care of themselves, you or Bruce. It makes me want to pull my hair out watching the two of you sometimes.”

“If you don’t like it, pick some other house to haunt.”

“I wouldn’t even if I could.” Jason looks up at him with a fond smile. “I like watching Alfie bake, and B solve cases, and hanging out with you when you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Weirdo,” Tim says and hopes Jason can’t see his cheeks turning red.

Jason laughs, but it dies out quickly as his expression turns serious.

Tim frowns. “Jason?”

Jason traces the pattern in Tim’s quilt with his fingers. “Hmm?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Jason says immediately and Tim fights the urge to kick at him with his foot. He wouldn’t be able to touch him anyway.

“Don’t lie to me,” he says instead.

“I really don’t,” Jason insists. “I feel like there’s something pulling me far away from here. I’ve been trying to resist it for the past couple days but soon I won’t be able to anymore.”

“Do you think…you’re moving on?” Tim asks, the thought forming a vice-like grip around his throat, making it hard to breathe.

“No,” Jason says quickly. “No, it’s not like that. But I think I might have to leave for awhile after tonight.”

Tim blinks rapidly. “For how long?”

“I don’t know. Tim,” Jason reaches out then in an attempt to grab Tim’s hand. Both of them let out a disappointed sigh when it doesn’t connect, “I’ll find you again, no matter what. Okay?”

“What if you forget about me?” Tim croaks.

“No matter what,” Jason insists.

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

They both laugh.

“Okay,” Tim says, finally breathing again. “What if somehow the universe found a way to bring you back to life? We always thought there had to be a reason why your spirit lingered here.”

Jason smirks at him. “Wouldn’t that be some shit?”


	8. Lighthouse during an apocalypse

For a long time, Jason played with the ideathat he might have been the only one left alive on the planet. He remembered the relief that came first at the thought, sharp and crisp and bright, he’d never have to worry about another person anymore, leaving him in death or hurting him in cruelty. It was quick to fade into something dull, something that made his chest an empty crater. Loneliness was a heavy thing, but he thought about the horrors he’d faced at the beginning of it all and thought maybe he preferred it that way.

It wasn’t all bad. Jason had his books, old and torn but still whole. He had his routine, a schedule he kept day in and day out. It helped him keep his sanity.

First thing in the morning he’d wake up and look out the lighthouse window into the water. Then, he’d have a breakfast of whatever was leftover from the day before. After, he’d get ready for the day with a bath and a shave, putting on some fresh clothes when he was all clean. He’d leave his little lighthouse home next, and spent the majority of his days exploring the perimeter around the lighthouse, taking an old rickety shopping cart with him to gather supplies on his way and his guns, his dagger and his pepper spray because one could never be too cautious. He’d check all of his traps and alarms to make sure he was as secure as he could be.

When he eventually made it back home, he’d work out, play his guitar, read just three pages (he’d learned at this point to drag the very best things out as long as he could) and do any cleaning necessary before he watched the sunset over the waves on the beach. And then finally, when it was dark out, he’d go to sleep.

That was the routine he’d built his world around. The one that kept him safe, sane and-he thought at the time-happy.

Then, one morning he woke up, looking out the window (routine routine routine) to see a bloody boy lying on the docks, and Jason’s world shattered.


	9. Sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was Jason being in love with what a badass Tim is

By the time Jason has Tim pinned to the training mat, they’re both out of breath and their thin workout clothes are damp with sweat. Tim pouts beneath him, testing Jason’s hold to no avail despite Jason’s exhaustion and their slick skin. 

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Jason can’t help but taunt him a little. Tim’s such a sore loser. “Ready to give up?”

Tim doesn’t answer immediately. He looks irritated and small under his hands, pale skinned flushed and hair sticking out in every direction around his head. He seems content to ignore Jason for the time being so Jason presses more of his weight into him, trying to get a reaction. 

He gets one form of a wince. It’s barely there, but Jason is close enough to notice it and his grip on Tim goes slack without hesitation. Tim strikes then, reversing their positions so that Jason is lying on his back, staring up at Tim’s smug smile before he can so much as blink in surprise. 

“I don’t know baby,” Tim finally replies. “Are _you_ ready to give up?”

“That was dirty,” Jason wheezes, impressed. 

Tim preens, taking it as the compliment Jason meant it to be. He lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “You’re too soft on me.”

“No,” Jason says, soft and sure. Tim’s expression brightens with warm surprise and Jason uses that surprise to his advantage, pulling out of Tim’s hold not to get away but so he can hook a hand around the back of Tim’s neck and pull him down for a kiss. 


	10. Give me attention

“You’ve been studying long enough.” Tim’s voice is low and breathy in his ear. Jason suspects he’s trying to sound alluring, which would normally work if not for the fact that Tim’s breath smells like the pizza rolls he was scarfing down earlier and the now less than forty-eight hour countdown until his finals begin. He scrubs at his dry and itchy eyes and sighs when all he gets for his efforts is a throb of pain in his forehead and eyes that remain dry and itchy. Tim shuffles closer, pressing up against Jason’s side. “Jason. Give me attention.”

“Kinda busy right now, Timmy.”

Tim slouches back in his own chair with a dramatic whine, prompting Jason into giving him a tired little smile despite the stress causing a weight against his shoulders and an ache in his head. Or it could be exhaustion, at this point it’s hard to tell. “You’ve been busy all day. I’m boyfriend deprived.” Jason snorts, which seems to further encourage Tim. “My Jason batteries have run low and there’s only one thing that’ll recharge them.” He gives a significant look down at Jason’s lap and waggles his eyebrows.

Jason kicks his chair, making Tim roll away from him with a squeak and all limbs flailing until he manages to catch himself. Jason turns back to his study guide, amusement fading when he has to squint to get his eyes to focus on the print.

“Jason.” Tim sounds stern now and he’s somehow snuck back up on Jason without making a sound. “You’re not even retaining any information.”

Jason squints harder. “You don’t know that.”

“Your study guide is upside down.”

“No it’s...” Jason holds the guide away from him and-yup.That would explain why he was having trouble reading it. That and apparently his brain is fried. “Maybe I need a break.” He catches Tim doing an unsubtle fist pump out of the corner of his eye and adds, “For sleep. Not sex.”

Tim hums. “I forgot to mention one more thing that recharges by boyfriend batteries.”

“Oh?” Jason humors him. “What’s that?”

“Snuggles.”

Jason nods. “I think I can manage that.” It’s not much of a bother at all, not when Tim fits so perfectly against him.


	11. "Am I your lockscreen?"

By the time that Jason notices Tim behind him it’s too late. One moment he’s perched peacefully on a rooftop, enjoying a post patrol snack and watching the sunrise, and the next he’s making the crucial mistake of checking the time on his phone just as the sound of light footsteps come from behind him seemingly out of nowhere. Tim’s already sucking in a startled breath when Jason tries to hide his phone in his pocket. He keeps his back to Tim, shoulders tense, waiting for it.

It sounds like Tim chokes a bit before he manages to speak. “Is that...am I your lock screen?”

“No. It’s-” He’s got nothing. He straightens from his crouch and turns to face the music. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Tim’s still in his costume, probably just got through with patrol in his section of the city as well. His cheeks are very red and Jason can feel the weight of his stare past both of their masks. “Why do have a picture of me sleeping as your lock screen?”

He knew the question was coming but it still sends his pulse racing upwards like a shock. He blurts, “Because you were wearing one of my old hoodies.” It was faded red and ridiculously big on Tim. Tim doesn’t seem to have words for Jason’s response so he’s forced to continue to ramble. “You were cuddling with Bizarros’s Superman plushie and your hair was a mess. You were-snoring.”

“Oh I see. You were trying to blackmail me.” Tim points a finger at him accusingly. “You know that it’s going to take a lot more than that to get to me.”

“I know that.” Just last week Jason had tried to shame Tim for his sloppy eating habits and Tim had responded with picking a stray Dorito chip off the ground with his toes and eating it without breaking eye contact. He’s an impenetrable force. 

“I thought it was cute, okay? I came home and you were there, like it was normal for you to be sleeping in my bed and cuddling with Bizarro’s favorite possession- something I know he would only part with willingly if he really liked somebody- and _you were wearing my favorite hoodie!_ ” 

“You thought I was cute.” Tim’s voice is flat and Jason can’t decide if he should feel relived or if he should run away very quickly. “So you took a picture of me. And you put it as your lock screen so you’d see me every time you used your phone.”

“I don’t use this phone that much,” Jason mutters. More often lately, but Tim doesn’t need to know that. 

A slow grin spread across Tim’s face. “Do you stare at it longingly?”

“Oh my god.”

“Jason, do you pine?”

“I am going to throw you off this roof.” He supposes he deserves this.

Tim’s laughing now. It’s not a cruel sound but happy, delighted even. “Well,” he starts once he catches his breath. “I guess I’m not one to judge you for taking pictures of people without permission. I have quite a few of you.”

“Oh good,” Jason says, then, “Wait what?”

“Anyway,” Tim powers on. “A picture is great and all, but I can guarantee the real thing is better. Me, you, your bed. We can both long and pine all we want.”

Jason stares at him. Well. “As long as you stop saying long and pine in any verb tense or context I think we can do that.”


	12. "Wake Up! Please wake up!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Major character death (and following resurrection), Suicidal thoughts, Blood

The liquid in the Lazarus Pit stings on Jason’s first step in, Tim’s body limp and cooling in his arms. It’s a terribly familiar shock that leaves his skin tingling and numb in its wake.

He never wanted to be back here. Never thought anything could bring him back to it. 

The Pit seems eager to welcome him back if the way it sticks to his skin is anything to go by. Its glow brightens when Tim’s blood mixes with it as Jason begins to lower him into it as if its more than happy to find another body to sink into. 

“Come on, come on, come on.” Jason’s shivering and shaking, a sharp contrast to Tim’s unnatural stillness. 

He takes a breath and submerges them both into the lightning storm of chemicals or magic or whatever the hell the Pit is made of. Despite the burn he keeps his eyes open, watching Tim for any sign of life. 

‘Wake up!’ he thinks devastated, desperate. ‘Please wake up!’

The seconds that pass where nothing happens is a cruel torture and only when Jason is settling into the decision that he’d rather drown than come up without Tim, Tim begins convulsing in his arms. 

He pulls Tim up and they both gasp for breath together. Tim’s clutching at him, fingernails digging in so sharply that he might even draw blood but Jason bares it without complaint. His own experience with death was painful, but the resurrection was worse.

He kisses at Tim’s still bloodied lips and brushes his now white tipped hair out of his face as their breath resumes a somewhat normal rhythm. 

“Jason,” Tim rasps through clenched teeth. “It hurts.”

“I know. It gets easier, I promise.” Jason begins walking them out of the Pit, knowing the first step to recovery is getting Tim as far away from here as possible. Tim never takes his eyes off Jason. The violent green of them glows almost as bright as the Pit itself.


	13. “Are you hurt?” “No.” “Then why are there bruises all over your face?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: threats of violence

The direction Tim’s traveling in is simply _away_. Away from the heavy fall of footsteps running through the near empty streets behind him, away from the mocking laughter that bounces off brick walls. 

“Come back here little birdie! Don’t you wanna keep singing for us?” The man breaks off laughing again. He sounds close. 

“You think he’s upset we broke his wing?” Another chimes in.

Tim is really tired of all the bird jokes. He doesn’t bother with a retort because he’s still trying to get away from them. It never occurs to him that he might be traveling towards something. 

Or someone.

He continues away until darkness spots his vision and he stumbles and sways and he has to stop before he falls to the ground. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to get back up if he did. He braces himself with a hand against the wall of a building forgetting, at least until the pain shoots through him, that it’s his injured arm. He groans, rolling until his back is braced against the wall instead. 

The group of men are closing in now, swaggering toward him with confidence in each step and a promise of violence with the bats in their hands. The one up front is smiling the very same smile he had when he crushed Tim’s arm. 

He can still reach the panic button on his belt. The one that’ll call Batman to him as fast as he can get there. He doesn’t press it. Later he’ll try to rationalize that decision and come up with no reasoning that makes sense to him. For now, he watches the men and their approach with tired, hateful eyes. 

The gunshots startle them all. The men react with high pitched cries, stumbling back from the line of bullets that splits the pavement between them and Tim, while Tim searches the opposite end of the street, trying to find where the bullets came from. 

Red Hood crouches on the roof of a car parked on the street, resting on his heels and holding a pistol in a lazy grip. He fires three more shots, each of them landing in the pavement in front of the men. Tim tries not to wince and cover his ears with each one. 

Finally he stops, keeping the gun pointed in their general direction as he rises from his crouch and walks down the back of the car and onto the street until he comes to a stop next to Tim.

“Do I have your attention?” he asks.

_Yes_ , Tim thinks. 

“Y-yes,” the man that broke Tim’s arm says. 

“Good.” Jason trains the gun on him, grip no longer lazy. “Leave.”

They leave, tails and pride tucked between their legs. Both Jason and Tim wait until they’re long out of sight to relax. 

“The Batcave is the other way, Babybird,” Jason says, tucking his gun back into his thigh holster with an unnecessary but badass little twirl. “Might start to think you were coming here just to see me.”

“It worked out in the end,” Tim says and absolutely does not think about the reason why he isn’t finding Jason’s bird jokes annoying. “Thanks for showing up. I totally had it, but the help is always appreciated.” 

He’s not surprised when his legs start to give out on his first step, but he is when Jason reaches out to steady him.

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Then why are there bruises all over your face?” Jason practically snarls, though it doesn’t have the effect he probably wants it to. Tim is the calmest he’s felt all night. 

“I fell?” he replies. Jason’s arm around his waist is incredibly distracting. 

“Into their fists?” Jason’s free hand cups Tim’s face, swiping a gloved thumb across Tim’s lip and Tim doesn’t understand until he follows Jason’s gaze and sees red. 

He licks his lips. It tastes like copper. “I may have gotten myself into a bit of a predicament.”

Jason snorts. “And where’s B been at during this predicament?”

Tim shrugs. “He doesn’t know.”

“The hell he doesn’t,” Jason snaps. “Whatever. I’ve got a place close by if you want to clean up there, or I can take you home. Your choice.”

“Your place,” Tim decides immediately. “Please.”


	14. "Please don't cry"

Tim lips taste like whiskey. 

They’re warm and wet against Jason’s, his movements sloppy and desperate in a way that shows both how drunk and how inexperienced Tim is with such things. Jason pulls away first and holds a hand up to Tim’s chest to stop him when he tries to lean toward him again. 

Tim blinks at him. “No?” he asks, soft and sweet. 

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “You’re not even going to remember this tomorrow, Tim.” 

Tim’s face scrunches up. “But I thought you’d…”

And Jason can’t stop his flinch. He knew he’d been pretty obvious about his crush on Tim, but that Tim can pick up on it even intoxicated is a bit of a slap to the face. “Yeah. Well. Not like this.” Jason sighs. Scrubs a hand over his face.

“Oh. Oh, no I’m sorry,” Tim says, latching onto Jason’s wrists. He sounds distressed. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it. Please don’t cry.”

Jason is definitely not crying, though he does keep his face hidden behind his hands to hide his smile. 

“I’m an asshole,” Tim laments. “I’ve been an asshole. I-” Tim’s voice cracks and breaks and he’s crying now with sobs that shake him enough that Jason can feel it where their hands are connected. 

Jason moves his hands away from his own face so he can see Tim and immediately cups Tim’s face in his palms. His eyes are wet with a wild look about them and his face is decorated in bright red splotches of color and Jason feels a little guilty. Just a little. “You’re a sloppy drunk aren’t you?” he asks, voice entirely too fond. 

Tim sniffles at him and slurs another apology that Jason doesn’t need. 

“You’re not an asshole and any other time I’d let you kiss me. Hell, I wanna kiss you all the time, but I don’t want to be another one of the bad decisions you make tonight.” Jason wipes away the tears on Tim’s cheeks with his thumbs. “And I know you’re gonna forget this but I want you to know that if you ever feel the urge to kiss me while you’re sober, I’d always kiss you back.”

“I’m not gonna forget,” Tim slurs, blinking slowly. “I’ll never forget.”

Jason smiles even though he doesn’t believe Tim. He doesn’t believe him at all. “Remember that I love you too, okay?”

“Yes. Yes, and I-” Tim sags in Jason’s arms because alcohol and exhaustion don’t make a good combination and Jason smiles again, unbothered, because he had no idea what Tim was about to say.


	15. "Are we on a date right now?"

“Hold up. Are we on a date right now?” 

“What? No. Of course not,” Jason says, even as Tim yanks the binoculars out of Jason’s grip to get a better look at their duplicates down on the streets below them. 

They’ve been following them from a safe distance since morning, expecting some sort of mayhem to come from the clone versions of themselves, and only finding…this. This being themselves or rather, their other selves, content with exploring Gotham together doing activities that, now that Tim so kindly pointed it out, are distressingly similar to that of a couple on a date. 

Jason watches in slow growing horror as his other leans down to whisper something in other Tim’s ear that makes him blush bright enough Jason can see it from several stories above them. “They aren’t on a date. They’re just planning something.” Maybe. Hopefully. “We should keep our guard up.”

“Aaand now you’re hand feeding me french fries.” Tim’s voice sounds odd. High and breathy.

No, it cannot be. “I’m just being polite, okay? You bought the food after all and-and you obviously can’t eat and walk at the same time because you need both of your tiny hands to hold the tray and- _Why are you licking my fingers?_ ”

Tim chokes a bit. “You must have gotten ketchup on them.”

“We didn’t get ketchup!” 

“Salt?” Tim’s voice is desperate and Jason doesn’t blame him. He feels desperate too watching a tiny pink tongue dart out and catch gloved fingers as the hand pulls away to grab another fry. Their others are grinning, giggling together as if they’re aware of and taking great joy in the havoc they’re causing Jason’s insides. Jason finally can’t take it anymore when he sees his other slip a gloved finger into other Tim’s mouth instead of a fry. He gives up, burying his face in his arms and sighing heavily. 

About a minute goes by before he hears Tim echo his sigh and drop the binoculars on the roof. “You gave me your jacket.”

“Of course I did. I’m a fucking gentleman, okay?” He lifts his head enough to catch a glimpse of Tim when he hears him start to laugh. His expression is actually quite similar to the one his other was wearing on the streets below. “So. Our clones went on a date,” he admits, finally.

Tim nods. He shuffles around on the roof, clears his throat a good three or four times, and says, “It makes sense. Kinda.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “It makes sense?”

Tim’s frown is a pouty little thing. “Kinda,” he clarifies, as if that was the important part.

“It kinda makes sense,” Jason repeats slowly. “Explain.”

“Well-” He’s interrupted by several cries coming from the streets below. 

“I told you!” Jason says as they both leap up. “I fucking told you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus:  
> -the cries were actually cheers bc other!jay got down on one knee and proposed   
> -he wrapped a straw wrapper around tims finger in place of a ring 😌😌  
> \- paparazzi saw and took pictures and now jaytim have to pretend to be engaged even after their clones are gone 😌😌😌


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "Have you ever looked more beautiful?" plus Non-binary Jay vibes <3

Jason’s reflection looks more confident than he feels. Tim got his measurements right, at least, and his sense of style is better for Jason than what he usually chooses for himself. 

The jean vest and white shirt underneath are neutral enough, as are the black leather ankle boots. The black leggings aren’t so bad either, even if it’s not something he’d ever pick out for himself. It’s the skirt that has him hesitating before he walks out to show Tim. 

It’s red. It’s soft. It’s _short_. 

Jason runs his hands up where the skirt starts at his waist and down to where it ends at mid-thigh. The material is light enough that Jason barely notices it when he takes a few steps around the room to test it out. He still knows it’s there though, and that causes his stomach to twist with something both nervous and excited. 

“Jason?” Tim calls. “Everything alright in there?”

Jason checks the mirror one last time-his reflection still shows much more confidence than he’s actually feeling-before he leaves the bedroom to show himself off. 

“Are your eyes closed?” Jason snorts, some of the nervousness leaving him when he catches sight of Tim sitting perfectly straight with his hands clasped in front of him. His boyfriend is a dork. 

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Tim says, turning his head toward the sound of his voice. “Can I open them now?”

“No,” Jason says since Tim is giving him the option.

“Alright,” Tim sighs and relaxes back against the sofa, his fingers drumming a random rhythm in the arm of the couch. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Jason watches Tim for a moment to make sure he isn’t going to peek before he wanders closer until he’s standing right in front of Tim, staring down at him. He knows Tim can hear him moving toward him, but Tim doesn’t even twitch. 

“Hey.”

Tim’s lips twitch. He keeps his eyes closed. “Hey there.”

“I like the skirt.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I see you?”

Jason huffs and then smirks as an idea comes to him. He raises his leg and plants his foot on the cushion right beside Tim’s head. Tim frowns a little when he feels the sudden pressure beside his head but otherwise doesn’t move as Jason tests his balance. 

“You can open your eyes now.”

Tim’s lashes flutter and then immediately his mouth pops open in surprise as he takes in the position Jason is in. “Oh hello.” 

“Compliment me,” he makes himself state, not ask. 

Tim hums and drags up and down Jason’s body slowly. “Did it hurt….when you fell?”

“Alright. Okay.”

“Have you ever looked more beautiful?”

“Tim,” Jason gripes but he’s smiling. He puts both feet down on the floor and takes a few steps back to give Tim a better look at the outfit. “Do you like it?”

“I’m trying very hard not to objectify you right now,” Tim says without shame. ”I think the question here is if you like it.”

Jason thinks about it for a moment. “I like it. It’s...comfortable.”

It’s surprising to him that comfortable is the first word that comes to mind. He’d think attractive or even sexy would be the first thing he feels after dressing up, but then he’s never put that much thought into attraction. 

It’s just-- nice.

“I don’t want to dress like this all the time,” he adds. “And only when it’s you and me, at least for now.” 

Tim nods and reaches out to run a finger along the edge of Jason’s skirt. It makes him shiver and Tim is close enough to notice. 

He smirks and presses his fingers into the waistband of the skirt until he has enough of a hold on it to tug Jason close to him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, feel free to leave a comment and/or a kudos!  
> You can also find me screaming about fandom stuff at  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glaciya) and [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/glaciiya)


End file.
